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“It’s not a penis,” said Aurienne, snatching the napkin from Élodie.

She left Élodie perplexed and Cath cackling into her beaker.

Back at Mordaunt’s bedside, Aurienneoff-loaded her pilfered goods onto his (her) bedside table. She descended to the kitchen to fetch boiling water for a few doses of bhreue. Mordaunt was awake when she returned—still not quite himself; his eyes were unfocused and his greeting was uncharacteristically affectionate (“You’re back. I missed you”).

Aurienne stirred powdered bhreue into a mug. “I’m pleased you’re awake. You’re to drink this.”

“You brought me a flower,” said Mordaunt, holding up Élodie’s allium.

There were tears in his eyes. Aurienne did not correct him, given that he might actually cry. She, however, was fighting down the bubbling of hysterical laughter.

“You may keep the flower if you finish this,” said Aurienne.

She helped Mordaunt higher onto the pillows and tilted the mug towards him. Mordaunt—unusually docile—drank.

After three or four sips, he grimaced, and said, “I’ve got to tell you, darling, this is awful.”

“It’s bhreue—it’s very nutritious. It’ll help you recover. Don’t call me darling.”

Aurienne put together an impromptu IV stand by removing the shade from a tall lamp.

Mordaunt gave Aurienne what she interpreted as an eyebrow wiggle. “I found your note.”

“My note?”

“Well, your diagram.” Mordaunt fished about on the table upon which Aurienne had dumped her ill-gotten gains. He held up the napkin. “Is this…what you want to do?”

“It’s what I did,” said Aurienne. “I was explaining the procedure to Cath.”

“The procedure?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve already done it?”

“Yes.”

“With me? Last night?”

“Yes.”

Mordaunt looked pouty. “You might have waited until I was conscious, so I could enjoy it, too.”

Aurienne stopped untangling tubing, because it dawned on her that she was, once again, being haunted by the tit wank. “It’s not a tit wank.”

“It’s a tit wank,” said Mordaunt.

“That’s not a penis,” said Aurienne. “It’s a blaecblade. And those are semilunar folds, not tits.”

Mordaunt, argumentative even in delirium, said, “The tits have got nipples.”

“Those are omental appendices, not nipples.”

Mordaunt’s eyes were closed. His voice had gone soft; he was fading into sleep. “I’d do it if you wanted to—”

“I don’t want to.”

“—but I’d really rather be suffocated by your thighs.”